Weep one last tear for me
by Your fat friend
Summary: What to do when a friend does not want you, i don't know but don't hurt yourself my love...


**Weep one last tear for me**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Only my soul**.

Ron got out his knife and dug it into the flesh surrounding his forearms. He released a sharp sigh as he pulled the knife down. One slash. Two slashes, three slashes four. Five slashes six slashes seven slashes more.

The blood was coming now, dripping out his arms and onto the legs of his black jeans. Ron lay back with two fingers pressed on the wounds and sighed happily.

He had been cutting himself for weeks now and was really enjoying it. A lot of changes had been going on with Ron in the last few weeks. First of all, his Dad noticed that he frowned when he read. He was carted off to the opticians and came out with a pair of rectangular thick rimmed glasses. He wasn't going to go for the round owly ones like his friend Harry. No siree. Next, he had a complete style overhaul, chucking out all his old jumpers and corduroy trousers, and replacing them with tight black jeans, white t-shirts and black waistcoats. Another big change – Ron had got a girlfriend. That's right, him and Hermione had finally got their act together and got together at the end of last year.

Once the bleeding had subsided, Ron reached for his black notebook. In it contained all his poems and sketches he drew in moods like this. He brought a silver colored pen out from his back pocket, and began to write:

Don't stop hugging me,

Don't stop loving me,

Those are the wishes of a true boy's dreams.

Don't stop wanting me,

Don't stop needing me,

You are the one I truly need,

Don't stop having me,

Don't stop taking me,

Don' stop (stop stop stop)

Satisfied with yet another emotional and deep entry, Ron flicked back to one of his earlier entries.

One of his sketches showed a bemused figure, huddled over a crater. The caption read:

Creature, you do not belong here.

Another one he was particularly pleased with was:

I love

I cry

I bleed

I die

I'm me.

(A/N These poems took me five years to make up and come from the bottom of my heart, PLEASE don't steal them)

Suddenly a voice drifted up the stairs, shattering his calm. It was his mother.

"Ronald!" she cried, "come down. Harry's here."

Ron rolled his eyes heavenward and told his mother he would be right down, then quickly began jotting down another poem

Walking between life and death

My voice wavers with every breath.

I have to go give them me leave.

For when I die who will grieve?

Next to it he drew a quick doodle of a naked man, arms outstretched, mouth open wide. He labelled it with the caption 'See the God fire burning inside me'.

A thumping on the stairs alerted him of the fact that Harry was galumphing up rickety steps to meet him. Although him and Harry had been best friends for years he was starting to get sick of Harry's whining. He was constantly moaning and crying and it got Ron down – so what, his parents had died and the fate of the wizarding world rested on his shoulders. Those problems were nothing compared to the crippling feeling of inadequacy Ron felt each and every day of his life. Harry knew nothing of Ron's recent bout of self harm. Ron feared Harry may get upset about it and then want to join in. He hastily wrapped an already bloodstained bandage over his cuts and pulled down his sleeve.

Harry burst in just as he was putting away his notebook.

"What's that?" he squealed, "writing a poem? That's so deep man, lemme see!"

He darted forward and grabbed his notebook from his draw before Ron could stop her.

"No..!" he began.

But it was too late.

Harry was flicking through his carefully inked sketchings and etchings, his poems, his short stories, his statements. Every now and then he would read a line out and giggle.

He felt a part of his soul wither and die at the turn of every page.

"You give that back! Now!" he bellowed, reaching forward for his notebook, his life's work. Harry held it above his head teasingly.

"Come and get it!" he purred.

Ron knew he was looking for another chance to get physical. Lately Harry had been getting a bit too touchy feeling for Ron's liking. Pillow fights and late night hugs were on thing, but shared showers were taking things a step too far. And he was in no such mood for Harry's games today. His blood loss was making him feel woozy and he just wanted his notebook back, but sadly, Harry was in a playful mood. Every time Ron made a grab for it, Harry swapped his hands or put it behind his back. Ron could feel his anger boiling up, bubbling like a volcano. He could feel a lump in his throat and tears stinging in his eyes.

_I must not cry, I must not cry._

As frustration overpowered his whole body, he could feel his strength building. His arm stretched out of its own accord and slapped Harry clean across the face. He stepped back in shock and dropped the notebook. Ron stooped to pick it up.

"Remember me cos soon I'll be gone," he said, before flouncing out the door.

**Well, that was my first chapter. I hope you like it, and please don't hassle me to update, these poems and statements are a part of me, and it is very hard letting go. I am finding this fan fic a great emotional outlet, almost like a journal really. But I am not promoting self harm in the slightest. Been there, done that, cried into the t-shirt! I'm kidding, I'm kidding. But I was pretty messed up after I left college and had to move back in with my mom. I went down into a dark place, and I don't want to go back there. But, luckily, with the help of Taking Back Sunday and keeping a journal I managed to come to the light. And I hope that anyone struggling with their own dark clouds can find this a big help.**


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